Friday Wine
by casfics
Summary: After months of fighting and being apart, Ethan is determined to make it up to his best friend. Little does he know, she’s already been waiting up in the hope he surprises her. Etica one-shot.


There are many things on Ethan Hardy's mind as he climbs behind the wheel on Friday 9th. First and foremost, he is bothered about the bottle of Merlot that tinkles as it rolls around the back seat. He hopes to the heavens it won't smash. Without that, none of this would have happened. The thought alone simultaneously fills him with more joy and sadness than he ever knew were possible.

As he starts the car, he feels a poignant sense of unfamiliarity settle in his chest. Though he could drive it blindfold, everything has changed so much. Gentle traffic begins to sidle on by, clouding the air with exhaust fumes, and atmospherical pollution does not cross his mind. Not even fleetingly. Not even once.

He indicates left. The off-charcoal of tarmac stretches out ahead, trees dotted along the sides of the roads like spectators. Buds of spring adorn them, making everything a little less stark. Everything is waiting now the cold weather has come to a standstill. It is the transition between dull and beautiful.

The car rolls to a halt at the traffic lights. With a slight glance downward, he sees it's 7pm. He chuckles lightly upon the realisation of springing such a late visit on her — all of his other moves concerning her had been, up-to-press, so calculatedly late. It is apt in the most ironic of ways. The radio hums lightly as he muses over things.

For once, the station had chosen something that wasn't utter garbage. The track feels vaguely familiar. It is gentle, soft, the sort you'd hear in a coffee shop. Peripherally, he notices other drivers becoming frazzled at the wait. He idly wonders if red is the default setting, if the lights are stuck, and what would happen if they _were_ stuck. It's nonsensical thinking for the sake of it, just to pass time, but honestly, he could wait all day. A smile plays on his lips — how lucky he is to have something so worthy that he feels that way about life.

A row of terraced houses are jammed together like crooked teeth. Squinting, he can make out the numbers. 41, 42, _43—_

A yellow glow spills out the first floor window. Daylight is fading, but the curtains are still wide open.

 _Maybe she's forgotten. Maybe she's remembered._

The car mounts the curb and comes to a stop. The metal of the seatbelt clanks — _hard_ — against the plastic. The sound of glass juddering on the back seat subsided after a few seconds.

There is an uncomfortable sensation as he reaches for the wine, of clammy skin against cold, chunky glass. His fingers slip slightly, but they curl even tighter against the neck of it in response. Red has never been a favourite of his, but this one is different. He slips a few loose coins into his jeans pocket along with the keys. It is time. Fresh evening air hits him as he shuts the door, checks the handles twice.

He wonders if he can slither away. That feels like the easy choice. But, as if in defiance of his thoughts, his brogue-clad feet climb the stone steps. A knock on the door.

 _Shit_.

Desperately, he looks back round at the car. It's probably too late, and his shoulders sag with this in mind.

The door flies open, making him blink. His mouth falls open. No words escape. He has just enough time to plant the wine on the side.

Then, like that, they are pressed together. Someone is sobbing. In a second, nothing else matters. The past fades away even quicker than they folded one another in. They are a tangle of limbs and hair and tears, and because neither wants to break apart, they stand and rock for a little while, heads clutched to chests and shoulders until they forget the importance of oxygen.

'Stop those tears, Nibbles, you'll set me off!' Her voice is soft and gentle and all kinds melodic: in the sense that it's heavily Geordie and hers and he has missed it so much.

He holds her at arms length. Even through misty eyes, he can take it all in. Blonde waves are the same, freshly-washed, if a little darker than before, and they hang by her shoulders like a waterfall. Emotion is pooled in deep blue of her eyes. Her complexion is even, pale as ever yet rosy in all the right places. It is his Alicia and nothing else matters. He sniffs harder.

She mutters something heavily accented, indistinguishable, before taking his hand and propelling them both into the lounge. A gesture is made and he sits promptly. Her cool fingers brush under his eyes, deftly wiping away all residual tears in one slick movement.

 _Like she's done it a hundred times._ She pauses for a second, clearly dithering. Briefly, she exits, leaving him puzzled and hiccuping on the sofa.

Within thirty seconds, she's opened the wine he brought and decanted it into two mugs. Clearly pleased with herself, she collapses onto the sofa beside him.

He gives a choked laugh. 'I don't know what I find funnier.'

She thrusts his between his two shaky hands, taking a large sip from her own.

'Go on.'

'The fact that you clocked what I brought probably before we even embraced, or the fact that we're drinking this from the same vessel in which you'd have morning coffee—'

She snorts. 'I am still unpacking, bad though that is. Not even convinced I brought any such alcohol glasses with me. It didn't seem a priority.'

'That's not the girl I know,' he frowns with a little smirk. 'Once upon a time it would have been the first thing on your mind.'

'She changed,' she mumbles blankly. 'A year without booze and men and all that jazz.'

'How long did that last for?'

'A good few months, I can pinpoint it pretty much right up until you stepped over the door ten minutes ago.'

Ethan chuckles lightly. 'Will power of a saint.'

'Something like that, yet I let it all go in a second without much thought.'

He shrugs with a playful smile. 'Clearly thirsty.'

'Mm, in more ways than one,' she nods, looking in his eyes as she delivers the line that makes him squirm. 'I didn't mean to pounce on the drink, I just thought it might diffuse the awkwardness. _If_ there were to be any.'

He stiffens slightly. 'Did you feel awkward?'

She sighs, clearly flustered. 'No, I said the wrong thing. It is kind of hard to know what to do when someone you care about turns up on your doorstep, you cuddle them for a bit and you both get teary. Especially hard when you've watched that person at their most vulnerable, seen them at 2am _and_ 2pm, and know what makes them tick. Like how ticklish they are, how they care for their parents, their worst fears, what their snoring is like, the temperature they have their bath, how they have to have the TV volume on an even number, salute all magpies just in case, and they obsessively drink milk from the carton, but—'

'Only the green one.'

They both whisper in unison, then look at one another a little dazed. A second passes, though it could easily have been a lifetime.

Alicia is clearly becoming upset herself; she glances out the window and fixes her eyes on the inky, darkening sky because somehow it's less scary than looking at him. It is his turn to comfort, though he's a little uneasy in doing so. Words have plummeted them into this abyss in the first place.

Instead, his fingers reach and squeeze her hand. There is a flinch and a pause, a palpable hesitation, before she relaxes and squeezes back. And just as hard. Maybe even a little bit harder - he isn't sure.

With a thumb, he glides over knuckles he's held, stroked and kissed many a time. It is like remembering. For a moment, he senses she is thinking the same thought. It is a precious level of intimacy, almost as raw and as beautiful as every other moment they have shared.

At some point, the mugs are placed on the coffee table.

They curl back into one another, bodies fitting like pieces of a jigsaw. Both are cautious, for they know what they have is delicate enough to break.

Hands play with hair and they sink into sleep, wrapped in each other's arms, drowsy from contemplating whether anything is as wonderful and as worth it as the paradox of love.


End file.
